


Role-Playing Games

by threewalls



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Crossdressing, D/s, Denial, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Roleplay, Spanking, Unrequited Love, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-27
Updated: 2004-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-15 03:30:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><cite>Andrew thinks it’s kind of cool that Warren has this kink and lets Andrew play with it.</cite></p>
            </blockquote>





	Role-Playing Games

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Andraste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andraste/gifts).



Andrew grits his teeth as Warren pushes in again. It hurts. It always hurts, so he thinks it’s supposed to. He’s discovering it’s harder to be good when it hurts less.

Andrew tries to dig his nails into his hands, only he bites his nails so that doesn't really work. Biting his nails ragged will sometimes give him feel-able edge, but not today.

“God, Katrina, you messed-up bitch! You’re so fucking tight.”

Andrew should say something, like agree or moan, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to hit the higher notes right now. He jerks his teeth open, shifts his lower lip between them and bites down. He tastes blood, but like everything Andrew tries, it doesn’t hurt him enough.

Yesterday, Andrew bought lube. Today, he dressed quicker than usual and stretched himself while Warren paced outside the bathroom. Like Andrew read on the ‘net, pushing in one finger, then two swishing side to side and there was something up there that made his vision sparkle when he touched it.

Even if Warren seemed to like how ‘wet’ he was, Andrew should know by now not to have ideas, or at least not mention them and definitely not go through with them.

Andrew tries to keep his head up and off the incredibly Warren-scented pillow just underneath him. He thinks all sorts of un-sexy thoughts: the liposuction episode of the X-Files (Warren looks kind of like a young Mulder) or the restaurant scene in Meaning of Life (smelling minty fresh breath on the back of his neck). It’s hard to forget the guy you love when he’s pinning you down on his mattress.

It just feels so good to have Warren inside him and moving and saying 'I love you' and ‘baby’ and 'mine' and his voice is softer than it ever is when Andrew isn't wearing this costume. It feels too good and even the roughness of the skirt feels good against his dick.

The costume was Warren’s idea. He was letting Andrew help him go through stuff from old projects. The expression on his face was everything evil genius-like. From idea to application in sixty seconds and if it makes Andrew uncomfortable, it’s only because feeling that much intensity from Warren makes Andrew’s pants a little tight.

Only he’s not wearing pants right now, or even really the skirt, which is hiked up around his waist. He has a loose white blouse and a long brown wig that makes him think of Lana Lang, or at least the Smallville version.

It's not drag, really. He doesn't shave his legs or wear make-up. How can it matter that Warren wants him in a skirt, if Warren wants him? Andrew also thinks it’s kind of cool that Warren has this kink and lets Andrew play with it.

“You like it like this, don’t you, baby? Taking it up the ass?”

“Yes, Master.” He forces the words out, somehow, in an admirable falsetto.

“Good girl. Take it, for your Master.”

Andrew does whimper, then, as Warren speeds up. A certain angle, a certain depth and Andrew can see the sparkles again. He can’t stop his hips from rising to try to match Warren and he begs for more, to be taken harder and Warren does, whispering harsh, little nothings.

The sparkles begin to run together. Andrew’s entering hyperdrive, where everything is white and warm and good--

Except it’s cold and empty and grey. Warren’s pulled out and-- away?

“You asshole! You-- I can’t-- You came all over my bed!”

Warren is screaming. A lot.

This is a game and there are rules and Andrew is usually good at games with rules. He can remember all 6,427 rules of his favourite version of D&D, but not the first rule of their game. He’s not supposed to come until Warren is finished.

Warren is screaming. A lot.

Andrew can’t move fast enough. His body is telling him to stay there, rest where it’s warm but his heart needs to apologise. If he gets his arms underneath, he can raise up and turn--

“Warren, I’m--“

“Don’t look at me.” Warren knocks him down between his shoulder blades, holds him there. “Stay there in your own filth. I can’t believe--”

“I’ll clean it up. I’ll wash the sheets.” Andrew knows his voice is muffled by the pillow, but he tries to apologise. He can barely breathe and everything smells of Warren and sex. It wouldn’t be a bad way to die.

“I sleep here! You--”

“I swear I’m sorry, Warren. I’ll do anything.”

Warren grabs under his chin and forces his head back. Pain, Andrew thinks, back to normal. Normal is good.

“Anything?” Warren asks, carefully.

“Anything.” Andrew hiccups. He's not crying but his eyes burn. “I’m sorry.”

“Get on your knees.” Warren’s hand moves to Andrew’s throat, closing just enough to mean it. “Now, bitch. Don’t give me anything else to punish you for.”

The threat makes Andrew’s insides squirm in ways not entirely unpleasant. Warren’s voice has gone back to that soft, dangerous whisper that means Warren hasn’t given up on him yet.

Warren still wants to help him, fix him, make him better. Warren has a plan. Warren’s plans are good.

Andrew pushes up, elbows, then hands, then knees. He wobbles a bit, but doesn’t fall.

“I’m going to spank you for being a nasty, naughty little girl,” Warren says, pulling up Andrew’s skirt completely. It's cold.

“Tell me you want this, *Katrina*.” Warren’s voice hardens on his ex’s name and Andrew knows this is the second chance he can’t waste.

Andrew swallows. He squeaks instead of speaking. He tries again. “I want to please you, Master.” Not quite high enough, but wavering in fear.

“You’re not doing so well, you know.”

Andrew knows Warren is just behind him, waiting, the heat of his hand hovering like a caress.

“Please spank me, Master.” Andrew’s voice is so small that he thinks it almost sounds like someone else. “I deserve it.”

Andrew screams with the first hit, more from shock than pain and nearly falls. Another falls on his other cheek and he only whimpers, safe behind his teeth. The pain becomes sting so rapidly.

Soft fingers ghost over the bruises.

“Pink, huh?” A whisper.

The fingers, Warren’s fingers, trail lower. Andrew wonders if Warren wants to pick up where they left off. He’s still wet, but he’ll do better this time.

Suddenly, Warren pushes his knees together hard. “You will keep your legs shut. Understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Don’t move.”

Warren goes away. Andrew stays exactly where he is, wanting to ask, wanting to turn and see, but following his directions. Warren won’t leave him here, not like this. Andrew hears a quiet jingle and thinks hard.

The next blow glances half-way up his left thigh. It’s too narrow to be Warren’s hand. Another a little higher on his right thigh, more centred, more force behind it, harder than Warren should be able to hit. Several quick, stinging cracks to his right buttock.

Andrew’s eyes are watering. His whimpers aren’t that quiet anymore.

He realises that it’s a belt and Warren is experimenting. ‘How hard?’ ‘How fast?’ The only answer seems to be more. Andrew can take more, if that’s what Warren wants.

“You need this.”

“Yes, Master. Please.”

Andrew’s shaking, tries to hold steady, hold himself up and ready for wherever Warren does next. He knows he’s swaying, a little, with each impact. He can’t tell if he’s moving away from the impact or towards it. He wonders which would please Warren more.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“I know, baby, but you need to remember the rules.”

It hurts, red pain and then white. Bright, bright white, like all the spotlights in the world and everyone he’s ever known are pointing and laughing. Andrew is sobbing openly, broken apologies between coughs of bitter salt and mucus.

Andrew knows he deserves this for ruining before. His pain is for Warren.

“You’re never leaving me again.”

“Never, Master. I love you.”

There’s sudden quiet and Warren groans, loudly. Something warm and sticky splatters onto his back and ass, stinging and dripping. It takes Andrew a moment to appreciate what this means.

Warren came.

Warren liked it.

Andrew slumps forward. He needs to rest and he needs a shower. Cool and slimy things are drying on his skin. His ass throbs. He should check it out, but later, when it stops hurting enough to let him move.

Warren is fixing his clothes and looking anywhere but Andrew. The room’s not that large, but Andrew wishes Warren could stand a little bit closer.

“You will clean this up before Jonathon gets back.”

“War--“

“Do it, Andrew.”

\---

(Later)

Andrew sees the thick black tube as he’s brushing his teeth. Even in his clean-smelling, shiny ceramic sanctum, he can’t forget now he is the suffered guest of women.

Andrew picks up the lipstick. The temptation is stronger when sorting their washing, but the laundry door doesn’t lock.

It’s called ‘Ecstatic Blush’ and it unscrews to a soft, pink point. It smells of chemicals.

“What are you doing in there?” The voice is annoyed and female (almost anyone). He puts the tube back exactly in place.

Andrew wonders if he’d worn lipstick, if Warren would have kissed him before.

**Author's Note:**

> This is only consensual because Andrew is too trusting.


End file.
